Pieces of Lives
by willowscribe
Summary: Mary Morstan has always known that John loves Sherlock more than he could ever love her. And that's okay. Sherlock's return just sets their lives on a different track.


**So it's an odd story how this fic came about. I was listening to "Someone Like You", which is the perfect post Reichenbach Johnlock song, except it has a sad ending, which I disliked. Halfway through to remedy this, I changed the perspective to Mary Morstan, and this fic is the result. I haven't written much for Sherlock before, so please review and tell me how I did! Enjoy! BBC Sherlock is not mine.**

_Pieces of Lives_**  
**

Mary Morstan is by no means stupid. She knows just as well as anyone how hurt John was after Sherlock's death. Though she never met the man himself, having started dating John six months after his death, she heard a lot about him, enough to draw her own conclusions on the nature of their relationship. Friendship, certainly, but some underlying tension of a more sexual nature beneath it all. Mary knows that John loves her. But she also knows that John has never loved anyone like he loved Sherlock.

It shouldn't matter, of course. They're content together. More than content, happy. They share a flat in central London on North Gower Street, just minutes from John's old flat at Baker Street. Sometimes Mary catches John giving Baker Street a long gaze when they walk by, his eyes misting with a haze of nostalgia. When that happens, Mary gives him a moment, then takes him by the arm and gently guides him away, before he drowns in old, suppressed emotion.

Even worse is when they visit the graveyard. The second Monday of every month, they go like clockwork. John lays a single white carnation in front of Sherlock's grave and just stands there. Sometimes, their visit is only a few minutes long; other times, John can spend hours standing in silence in front of that black marble slab. No matter how long they spend in that lonely graveyard, Mary stays with John, her arm twined in his, supporting him as he faces his lost best friend.

She's a clever girl, Mary. A bit plain to look at, with a drawn face and dull blonde hair falling flat against the small of her back, but clever nonetheless. She works at the same clinic as John as a secretary, which is how they met initially. She's an organizational wizard, and she's the one who keeps the whole operation running on schedule. For the longest time, she didn't notice John, nor John her, but one day she found him in the lounge trying not to have a breakdown three months after Sherlock's death. They talked, became friends, starting dating, and eventually moved in together. Mary thinks it ironic that Sherlock is the thing who brought them together, but is also the one thing that can keep them apart. Because while John likes Mary, John needs Sherlock. If Mary is a flower to John, Sherlock is air. It's that simple and Mary accepts this.

She's been dating John for two and a half years when Sherlock returns.

A stranger rings the bell at their flat one day, a stranger with curly ginger hair, ridiculously sharp cheekbones, and a baseball cap supporting some team in Canada. He's dressed in denim jeans, a light blue shirt, and generic athletic shoes. Nothing unique, nothing special – except for the way he asks her, in a slightly desperate way, if John Watson is home. He is filled with a frenetic energy, like he's been running for so long, he doesn't know how to stop. So she calls John, and John appears a moment later, steaming cup of Earl Grey clutched tightly in his hand.

Upon seeing the stranger's face, John's tea falls from his hand, shattering on contact with their front steps. His fists tighten slightly and the stranger looks at him with something akin to hope. "John," he breathes, his deep voice cracking on the word. John gazes at him for the longest time before sighing heavily.

"You're… alive."

"Yes."

"You were never dead."

"Yes."

"You _lied_ to me."

"I _had_ to. You would have died otherwise. You and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Dead. For real."

John gives a strangled laugh. "You were gone for three years! And now you turn up on my doorstep and tell me you weren't dead all along? What do you expect me to say? 'Oh, what a lark! Fine Sherlock, let's just go back to the way things were before!' No!" John sighs heavily and runs a stressed hand through his hair. "God, Sherlock! I just…" He trails off, like he can't even articulate what he's feeling anymore. For his part, Sherlock takes John's rage without protest. Once John winds down, he speaks again.

"I… I am sorry." Sherlock looks as if he's struggling with what to say. From John's stories, Mary remembers he is socially awkward to a fault. This certainly can't be easy for him, trying to figure out what to say that will calm John's anger. "I… wish it hadn't been this way."

John gives him a hard look. "I do too." He turns to head back inside the flat. "Come on, Mary."

Sherlock looks as if he's been hit by a truck. John's complete and utter rejection had hurt him beyond description. Mary gives him a sad look, but Sherlock has already turned his back and is walking down the street, shoulders slumped and back hunched over low. Mary turns into the doorframe to find John staring out a window at his best friend, looking for all the world like he'd want nothing more than to run after him. Mary grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze. When John turns to look at her, she whispers to him, "Go."

John gives her a surprised look, because they both know the enormity of this decision. Mary gives him a sad smile. "John. You love him. Go." Gently, she pushes him out the door and closes it behind him. From the window, she watches as John begins to sprint down the street after Sherlock. When Sherlock turns, John flings himself at Sherlock and kisses him like Mary has never been kissed. Sherlock's arms tighten around John and they stand there in the middle of the street, the whole world faded away around them. Mary smiles, her eyes misting, and turns away. This is their private moment now.

She's not stupid. Mary's always know that John loves Sherlock above all else, and while he does care deeply for her, their relationship could never compare. And Mary knows that if she loves John (and she does; oh yes, she does), then she must let him go. Even as she mourns her own relationship, she finds happiness in seeing John so happy. And really, isn't that the most important thing in a relationship? Trying to bring the other person happiness?

Of course, John comes back the next day. Apologizes profusely. Breaks up with her as gently as possible. It's all to be expected, Mary knows. And she's happy for him. She really is.

It's just that she feels so lonely. For two and a half years, she had John in her life. Without his steadying presence, she feels lost, empty. She doesn't resent John or Sherlock for it. She practically invited it upon herself. It's just… lonely.

She stays in touch with John as their lives fall into new shapes. John and Sherlock move back into 221B, while Mary leaves her old place for a smaller flat closer to St. Bart's on Fleet Street. Mary slowly begins to attempt dating again, although none of her relationships last long. She's still pleased when John asks her to be his "maid of honor" at his wedding. While John and Sherlock disappear together at the reception, Mary begins to chat with Sherlock's best man, a detective at Scotland Yard called Greg Lestrade. Mary remember John mentioning Greg a few times in his old recountings of his adventures with Sherlock, and is delighted to find him a bright and attentive gentleman. They spend most of the night together, and when Greg asks her if she wants to go out for a coffee the next day, Mary agrees.

So finally (finally!), Mary's world is starting to right itself. When John announces he and Sherlock are adopting a child, a little boy only two months old, Mary is more than pleased, especially when she's asked to be his godmother. The baby, Hamish, is a delight, with bright blue eyes and a tuft of soft, dark hair. Mary falls in love instantly, and she ends up babysitting for the boy frequently. Sherlock and John never stop living their life of excitement and danger and mystery, but they try their best to be there for Hamish as well.

Hamish's first birthday is celebrated with a small gathering in 221B. Mary's there, along with Greg, Molly from the morgue, the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, although Mycroft only stays long enough for cake before leaving to take care of some issue of national security. After the party, Greg and Mary go for a walk together, holding hands as a cool autumn breeze whips around them. Greg's large, calloused hand is warm in Mary's own. He smells like cologne and spearmint.

They end up on North Gower Street, the place where Mary changed the course of her entire life with one simple decision. If she'd not told John to run after Sherlock, they'd probably be married by now, Sherlock vanished from both of their lives. Instead, it's Greg who gets down on one knee in the middle of the street and proposes to her, altering her life's course once more.

And Mary can't help but say yes.

Mary Morstan is by no means stupid. And she's never regretted a single decision she ever made regarding John. Because she now feels for Greg what she always knew John felt for Sherlock those long years while they were together. And that feeling, that feeling of pure, overwhelming love, is something she'd never ever take back.

Mary loves Greg. John loves Sherlock. And for once, the pieces of their lives have finally fallen into place.


End file.
